Used to Be
by Gedia Kacela
Summary: With a history like Lucius and Snape’s, the past is bound to come up, whether they want it to or not. A reflection on what used to be.


Used to Be  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, duh.  
  
Author's Note: I've had this idea rolling around in my head since I saw HP2 for the second time... where Lucius and Severus were sitting near each other at the Quidditch match. It's slashy, admittedly, but not horribly so.  
  
With a history like Lucius and Snape's, the past is bound to come up, whether they want it to or not.  
  
***  
  
Severus Snape kept his eyes fastened on the whizzing players above, pointedly not giving in to every impulse that screamed at him to meet Lucius' not-so-subtle stare. The blonde kept glancing over at Snape with that look in his eye, the look that he had received all through their first three years at Hogwarts- the one that said that he wanted to talk but was too proud to start the conversation.  
  
Snape knew all about that conversation. The 'I-fancy-you-so-let's-fuck' conversation. He knew what would follow... the promises that it was just for once, that they wouldn't be attached to each other, that it wouldn't mean a thing. But those promises were nothing but lies. It had meant something back then, and not just to him either.  
  
Back then, Lucius had cared, had been in possession of a heart that could feel. Those nights had meant something to him as well. But Lucius had pretended they hadn't, and damned if he wasn't a good actor. He had even convinced himself that he cared nothing for the raven-haired boy.  
  
Snape had played along, played the fool, had been there through every girl that the attractive Malfoy went through in their years at Hogwarts, and even beyond when they both became Death Eaters. The girls were all the same, beautiful, slender, popular, mostly blondes. Severus had thought that Narcissa would be the same. She'd last for a month or so before Lucius cast her aside and returned to Snape for a night or three.  
  
Admittedly, the two had their rough spots. Narcissa was not one to be controlled, nor cast aside. So when Lucius tried to end things, like he always did, she told him that she was pregnant.  
  
It was a lie. Severus had known it was. She just wanted Lucius as her husband, wanted to be a part of the rich wizarding family and live comfortably for the rest of her days. Telling a lie was nothing if she achieved that.  
  
And she did. They were married at an extravagant ceremony, with Snape as bloody best man. It was the one point in his life where he had ever hated anyone. He hated Narcissa, hated himself for not revealing her blatant dishonesty to Lucius, and hated Lucius for choosing her over him.  
  
That night, the night of their 'honeymoon,' Severus had gone to the nearest pub and gotten three sheets to the wind. He had woken up alone in an inn after making awkward and clumsy love to a girl whose name he didn't even know and feeling more sorry for himself than before. The pounding headache he had acquired hadn't helped matters, either.  
  
The marriage went on for two months before Lucius found his way into Severus' bed again. Snape wanted to refuse him, wanted to continue hating him, wanted to lock the door to keep him out, but couldn't. He couldn't. He had never felt so weak.  
  
He felt that way now, every time those pale eyes traveled over him. He wished to Merlin that Malfoy would stop staring. The Slytherin Chaser succeeded in getting the Quaffle past the Gryffindor Keeper and Snape clapped along with the rest, glad for the momentary distraction.  
  
As Lucius was applauding, his attention drawn to the events of the game, Snape stood and slipped through the box seats and hurried down the stairs, the wind whipping his lank hair around his face.  
  
His feet hit the frost-hardened ground at the same moment that Lucius' voice stopped him in his tracks. "Trying to avoid me, Severus?"  
  
He turned slowly, his face set into a cold, hard, expressionless mask. "Obviously, it isn't working."  
  
Lucius stepped carefully down the stairs, lifting his almost regal black robes above his buckled shoes. Severus hated how he looked, so perfect, so flawless. Whereas himself... he looked far older than his years, and he knew it.  
  
Malfoy's pale eyes once again took in his form, and he said in that familiar, disdainful voice, "You've changed, Severus." It was a fact that Malfoy never failed to point out. While he and his handsome looks remained the same, Snape seemed to degenerate each year, growing more sallow, more hateful, more careless of his appearance.  
  
But why should he care? He had no one now. Even Lucius had ceased coming to him after Voldemort's fall. Since then he had known few lovers. Now there were none whatsoever. But he had failed to care anymore.  
  
"What do you want, Lucius?" he sighed wearily.  
  
"Just to talk."  
  
He shook his head. "No. Talking with you is useless. I learned that a long time ago."  
  
The blonde smiled, the expression somehow twisted on the face so suited for sneers. "Come now, surely it didn't used to be all that bad, now did it?"  
  
"Perhaps we are not thinking of the same things, because my memories are perfectly lucid and rather painful."  
  
He scoffed at the suggestion. "Nonsense. We had fun, didn't we?"  
  
"Fun? Perhaps you had fun, Lucius, but I did not."  
  
Lucius shook his head. "You always were the downer of the party, weren't you? I had forgotten."  
  
"And you were always the user. That I had not forgotten."  
  
He clucked his tongue. "Such bitterness, Severus. Can't we leave the past behind us or are you still holding firm to that unbearable desire to hate me?"  
  
"If you cannot figure that out on your own, you're a far dumber arse than I first presumed."  
  
Lucius stepped closer to Snape, the two black-robed figures standing starkly out against the pale horizon. "When did you start to hate me, old friend?"  
  
Severus sighed, raising his eyes to meet Lucius'. "I think I always did, but I was too idiotic to realize it, too blinded by you. That was the way it was with everyone. You tricked people into thinking that they were in love with you, Lucius. And none of them ever were. They loved your looks, your power, your charm... never you."  
  
The cold look had returned to Malfoy's face and he raised his chin haughtily. "And what was it for you, Severus? What did you fall in love with, if not with me? You were never one to account for looks, I know. I could have been as ugly as you were and you still would have allowed me into your bed."  
  
They were barbed words, but the piercing comment somehow didn't hurt the way it should have. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because he had finally realized that he cared nothing for the narcissistic former Slytherin. He didn't long to entangle his fingers in the long hair, to kiss pale lips, to caress sinewy muscles.  
  
That was all in the past. And he no longer lived in the past. This was the present, another day that he could live on his own, not haunted by memories. The past was done with.  
  
He shrugged at the question, turning away. "What did I fall in love with? I think, Lucius, that I fell in love with what you could have been... with what used to be."  
  
His cold voice called after him. "And have things changed so much now?"  
  
He nodded as the wind whipped his lank hair. "They have. Whether you realize it or not, things have changed." And they had. Pureblooded families were growing less and less common, while witches and wizards from Muggle families were becoming more so. The world had changed since the reign of Voldemort. But some, like Lucius, refused to accept the change.  
  
"Things will never change. He will come back, you know. And when He does, He will reward the faithful, not the traitors."   
  
"Perhaps." His voice was careless, tired even, tired of the whole conversation. He continued walking away, away from the man who had once held his past.  
  
Once upon a time, in the days when a handsome blonde lay beside him at night, he might have been worried about the Dark Lord's return, worried that he would be punished, discovered as a spy.  
  
That was what used to be.  
  
But things had indeed changed. As he breathed into cupped hands to warm his fingers, his black gaze focused on the Quidditch game raging on above him. His eyes fastened upon one player, a Seeker in scarlet and gold robes.  
  
This was now.  
  
END 


End file.
